Title: Before the Sun Breaks Another Day
Authors:
accordingtomel &
adelagiaSummary: Three months after her disappearance, Morgana returns to Camelot with a hidden agenda, but she's not the only one keeping secrets, and a series of unintended revelations forces her, Merlin and Arthur on an intertwined journey of revenge, redemption and love.
Pairings: Merlin/Arthur, Leon/Morgana (elements of Uther/Morgana, Arthur/Gwen)
Rating: PG-13 (eventual NC-17)
Spoilers/Warnings: Everything up to and including 2x13
Word Count: 7,029
Disclaimer: Not ours. No money is being made. Please don't sue.
Authors' Note: Many, many thanks to
ravenflight21 for all her help with the beta/Brit-picking process.
Previous Chapters:
One |
Two |
Three |
Four |
Five |
Six |
Seven |
Eight |
Nine |
Ten |
Eleven |
Twelve |
Thirteen |
Fourteen CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Arthur had trained for a scenario like this for nearly all of his life. He was, if not the most skilled warrior in all of Camelot, at least one of the most resourceful, and if all those years of gruelling practice had taught him anything, it was to never accept defeat, even against what appeared to be an impossible foe. No one was invincible, no matter the size or strength; everything and everyone had a weakness, and Arthur was going to find this creature's, because there were no other available options if he wanted to live.
These things were swift and ferocious, that much he'd witnessed during his brief study of the first beast's movements earlier. At this point, it appeared that the best offence would be a strong defence. If he could just wait for it to make the first move, the likelihood of injuring the beast while it regrouped after an attack would hopefully increase.
For several seconds an eerie silence fell over the clearing as Arthur, holding his sword out in front of him as he waited, watched the beast shuffle back and forth. He wondered vaguely if Morgause was still somewhere nearby, hidden in the thicket as she took in the result of her handiwork, because there was no doubt she'd somehow created these creatures. Thankfully the wait was not long before the beast lunged forwards with alarming speed, and Arthur barely managed to stumble backwards out of its grasp as it reared up on its hind legs and swiped at him with both claws, snarling viciously. This one appeared slightly smaller in build than the one he'd left his knights to slay, but that didn't seem to have any effect on its speed or ferocity.
As it came back to the ground, Arthur swung his sword out, aiming specifically for its front paws, and was surprised when he made contact, splitting open the left side of its left paw. A deep growl spilled past its mouth, sharp teeth gleaming and eyes alight with rage as it pulled away momentarily, and Arthur used this time to regroup. Unfortunately, the initial satisfaction of landing a blow faded quickly, as the injury clearly had no real impact on the creature's strength or agility, and instead only served to infuriate the beast even further. With lightning speed, the creature lashed out at Arthur with its uninjured claw and this time Arthur was unable to move out of the way fast enough.
He registered the hard thud of a tree trunk against his back, the white hot pain that shot up and down his spine, the clank of his sword dropping several feet away before he was even able to process the fact that he'd been thrown in the first place. Blinking away the shock, Arthur managed to pull himself together in time to dive away from the tree at the same moment that the beast made to lunge for him once more. Arthur watched with abject horror as the beast struck the tree in the space directly above where his head had just been, nearly shredding it in half from that one strike alone. But there was no time to sit and watch the show, if he wished to avoid becoming the creature's dinner.
Tucking his body in tight, Arthur rolled to the side and made a quick grab for his sword. This pace was becoming too much. If he wasn't able to find a way to slow its movements somehow, he would be too exhausted to even sidestep further attack, let alone slay the accursed creature.
He needed to find an opening somewhere, and fast.
*
Morgana ran. Behind her she thought she could hear the distant roars of the beasts and the shouts of the men fighting for their lives, and she fought the urge to retch. She had seen her fair share of battles in the past, stepped over the dead and dying, breathed in the copper stench of spilled blood, but there was no hardening herself against those cries in the distance now -- she was responsible for this destruction.
Beneath her feet, fallen leaves crackled and tore as she pushed herself forwards, looking around wildly for any sign of Morgause. A small part of her still hoped that her dreams were wrong, that her subconscious might have fabricated those visions to work through her unspoken fears, but she'd seen the beasts from her nightmares come to life; this was all too real, and that meant that Morgause was somewhere nearby, watching all her orchestrations come to fruition.
The trouble was, she had no clue where or how to find Morgause. Her sister had always been the one to set the terms for their communication; she'd always been the one to send messages first or to track Morgana down in person at the castle. Every letter, every meeting played according to Morgause's rules alone.
It was clear now just how easy Morgana had made it for Morgause to influence her mind, like pulling the strings of a marionette; she'd let herself be manipulated as much as she thought she'd been manipulating Uther, her childish anger embraced and multiplied tenfold in Morgause's warm countenance. She'd let their bond in blood dictate her actions, placing her entire trust in a woman she had only called sister for a matter of months, and as much as she wanted to blame Morgause for everything that was happening now, Morgana knew that she was just as much at fault for thinking she had the will to play these kinds of games, the strength to tussle with forces she didn't understand.
Out of the corner of her eye, a shimmer of red appeared, and Morgause materialised from behind a dense thicket, smooth and placid. Nothing of her mien suggested any hint of the savagery she had set in motion.
"Morgana, you should not be out here. It isn't safe."
Any hopes Morgana had mulishly clung onto about Morgause's innocence in all this disappeared in a trice. She grabbed Morgause by the shoulder. "What have you done?"
Morgause's calm demeanour did not change; her tone, when she spoke, reminded Morgana of the patronising patience of someone explaining something to a simple child. "Only what you needed me to do. Arthur was in your way, and now I'm making sure he will no longer present a problem to you."
"I never asked you to hurt him. I never wanted you to hurt him!"
Morgause tilted her head to one side, as though she was hearing this for the very first time. "I gave you my word that I wouldn't personally harm Arthur. I haven't, and I won't lay a finger on him. How he holds himself against the behemoths is his burden to bear."
Blood suddenly rising to a boil, Morgana took a step backwards before she could raise a hand to Morgause. In all her worst fears she'd never imagined that Morgause would betray her trust this way, arguing semantics of all things. "He'll be killed if you don't stop it," she said, hating the desperation in her voice, knowing that if Arthur -- or if Leon -- were hurt, or worse, she'd only have herself to blame for being so stupid and so naive.
"That is a risk," Morgause agreed solemnly. "But you said yourself he's a skilled warrior; he may come out of this the stronger."
For a brief second Morgana congratulated herself on keeping Merlin's secret from Morgause; had she revealed Merlin's abilities, no doubt Morgause would have found a way to put him out of commission, too, and Arthur would have had no hope at all. With Merlin by his side, at least he still stood a fighting chance. Still, visions of Arthur's death flashed across her mind, and anger surged to the surface once more. She knew Morgause still held a grudge against Arthur for sparing Uther's life after all the trouble she'd gone through to show him why Igraine had died; perhaps retribution for that discarded faith was at hand. "You planned this," she accused. "You wanted this to happen all along."
A hairline crack appeared in the calm facade. "It was never my wish to kill Arthur. But he's proven nothing more than a distraction and a liability, and if you want Camelot's crown, this is how you get it. I thought," said Morgause, looking truly earnest, "this would make things easier for you, to get Uther to entrust Camelot to you."
Morgana felt so small. "I don't want it."
Morgause's stare was sharp enough to cut glass. "You don't want it? Morgana, we've been planning this for months and you're changing your mind now? What happened to making Uther pay for all he's done to us, to our fallen brethren? For what he's done to you?"
"I don't know; I-- I can't do it. I can't kill anyone, and nobody should be getting hurt or killed on my account. Least of all those villagers your behemoths have already massacred, and-- and those knights trying to protect the rest of Camelot, and Arthur. You have to call them off."
"It's for the greater good of the people," she insisted.
"How can it be for their greater good if they're all dead?"
Morgause pursed her lips, but her tone, didactic and practical, revealed her temper remained as even as ever. "There are casualties in every war. It's unavoidable. And we will mourn our losses and their sacrifices in the light of a brighter future, one that we will bring about once we rid the world of Uther Pendragon. It's too late for second thoughts, Morgana; besides, this is what you wanted."
"Not like this. It isn't right," said Morgana, shaking her head. "There has to be another way, a better way."
"There is," Morgause hissed, impatience flaring at last, "and you begged me not to go through with it. With my powers, I could have turned this entire land to ash. But for you, I would already have Camelot in my hands. You were the one who wanted to take this route, to bring Camelot down from the inside, and now you're telling me that I'm the one in the wrong?"
Involuntarily, Morgana took a step backwards at the anger that flashed across Morgause's face, and for the first time, truly understood how dangerous her sister was. "This is my fault," Morgana placated. "I was wrong, and I'm sorry that I've put you in this position. But now I'm asking you -- begging you -- please put a stop to it before anyone else gets hurt. We don't need to win Camelot this way."
A mirthless breath of laughter whispered past Morgause's lips. "So it's 'we' again now, is it? Morgana, I trusted you." The words would have been laughable, considering the underhanded way Morgause had circumvented her promises, had it not been for the look on her face that plainly showed she felt as betrayed as Morgana did. She blinked, her brow furrowed in disbelief. "We were going to be tremendous together, with all of Camelot at our feet. We would have made things right."
Morgana swallowed a knot of guilt, not knowing what else to say.
"Why," said Morgause, suddenly shrewd once more, "the sudden change of heart? Is it that guard of yours?"
Panic swelled in her veins, and Morgana could just barely manage to sputter, "What are you talking about?"
"So it's true. Seeing the two of you together so often, I had only hoped it was an act to win his loyalty as his future sovereign," Morgause said flatly. At Morgana's confusion, she added, "Did you think I wouldn't keep an eye on you at the castle?"
"You were spying on me?"
"I was protecting you! The last time you were in that castle, someone poisoned you -- of course I wasn't going to send you back into that den of snakes alone without finding a way to watch over you."
In some other circumstance, it might have been touching, but Morgana couldn't shake the feeling of having been toyed with. "And you never saw fit to tell me this?"
"Oh," Morgause intoned sardonically, "you're only upset because I discovered your little secret, handing your heart out to someone who would as soon skewer it if he knew what you were."
Morgana bit down the urge to defend Leon; this wasn't about him and she wouldn't let him get involved, even if only in name.
"You'd be thanking me for looking out for you," Morgause went on, "if your conscience were clear."
"If my--" Morgana nearly shrieked with outrage. "People are dying because of me. People are dead because of me. My conscience will never be clear."
Morgause looked away, the fire gone out of her eyes. "Then what difference does it make?"
"Please. You can put an end to this right now. No one else has to die."
Morgause was silent for a moment, and then, softly, "No."
Morgana stared.
"No," she said again, more firmly this time. "You said you wanted to effect change, to heal this land of its torment under the Pendragon rule. Well, here I am, doing what you cannot, or will not. The people -- our people -- will be better off for it in the end. You must see that, my sister."
Bringing up their kinship now felt like a slap in the face. Morgana's fists clenched at her sides. "If that word meant anything to you, we wouldn't be having this conversation. My family and friends are in danger, and you do nothing. We may be bound by blood, but I see now that you have no real love for me."
"How can you say that after everything I've done for you?"
"Because it's true, isn't it? All this time, you've played me for a fool. You promised me, Morgause; you swore that you would not put Arthur in harm's way, but even from the very first... That serpent that attacked him when he set out with the search party -- that was you; you set that trap for him."
She let a beat pass, hoping against hope that Morgause might prove her accusations false, but no denial was forthcoming, and there was no triumph in being right. Instead, there was only the prickling of her eyes as she fought to keep her emotions under control; she could not cry in front of this woman who had smiled to her face and stuck a dagger in her back, and it hurt all the more that she had once thought Morgause not only a kindred spirit but a friend, a sister whose word was worth something.
"I thought I could trust you, but you've been lying to me this whole time. Tell me," Morgana said, with difficulty. A part of her didn't want to know the answer, but at this point, the truth, however harsh, could not hurt her any worse than having her faith in Morgause shattered. "If I had succeeded, if I had become Queen -- did you have any intention of following through with the rest of the plans to give up the throne to Arthur in the end?"
For a split second, she could see it clear as day, the placatory lie formulating on Morgause's lips, but at last Morgause only said, "Arthur is weak."
"Arthur will be ten times the king his father is."
"That is no credit to him; any sentient creature could make a better king than Uther Pendragon. Arthur is weak," she repeated, "and difficult; his emotions blind him to justice. Where his own feelings are concerned he sees no one but himself. If you had become Queen, we would have made this land flourish again, in magic and in peace, but Arthur would recognise none of it; he would see only you on the throne, a murderer and a usurper. Did you really think he would accept the crown from you after you deposed his father and stole his claim to the throne? Did you think he would ever forgive you? You cannot have it both ways."
"And yet this is the first I'm hearing of it," Morgana said, a storm of anger rising inside her. "You wanted it this way all along; you knew I wouldn't have any part of it if Arthur was to get hurt, so you let me believe I was doing this for his benefit, for his future and Camelot's, and all the while you were thinking of ways to get rid of him for good!"
"What use is he to us?"
Morgana wanted to scream. "Use? Is that all we are to you? Pawns?"
"There are bigger things at stake, Morgana, than the life of one measly little princeling."
"He's my brother."
"Well, he is not mine," Morgause snapped, "and his death will be of no consequence to me, and neither would it be to you, if you actually had the fortitude to fight for what you believe in. Our people, Morgana, need us. How can you turn your back on them now?"
"How can you ask me to choose?"
Morgana forced down the tremor in her voice, hating the unfairness, the impossibility; she was trapped in a situation of her own making. She had trusted Morgause to help her set the scores straight, only to have her choices turned on her, mutated and deformed into blind ruination. She had wanted to mete out justice for all the wrongs done to her, but all she'd managed to do was to hurt everyone else instead, and now she was helpless to make it right again.
There was so much she wished she could change, not least of all the darkness she'd nursed in her heart that had led her here. Hatred only begat more of the same, and if only she had learned that a little earlier she would not find her hand on the hilt of the sword at her belt, hanging there like a lead weight. She drew the sword from its sheath, hating herself for even considering it but knowing she had no other recourse.
"And yet you have chosen," Morgause said, stung. Her face was wan. "You would set yourself against me?"
*
Things were not going nearly as well as Arthur would have liked, but he was still alive, so that had to at least count for something. He'd managed to successfully connect several more blows while simultaneously dodging the creature's counter attacks. Yet in spite of this fact, the beast had virtually the same ravenous hunger for Arthur's blood as when they'd first met.
Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur noticed a flash of colour hovering at the edge of the clearing, and his heart sank to his feet. Without once removing his focus from the beast, Arthur took several steps back, his jaw clenching with frustration.
"Merlin, what the hell are you doing out here?" he growled, low and deep.
There was silence, and then the distinct sound of someone emerging from the brush. "I couldn't let you do this alone."
The creature swiped at Arthur again. He ducked out of the way, swinging his sword in a wide arc but this time it barely nicked flesh, distracted as he was by Merlin's presence. "Did you ever consider that I left you back for a reason?"
"I suppose it never occurred to you that I'm not all that great when it comes to following orders, sire."
"Yes, I've noticed. And I swear, if we make it out of here alive, you'll be spending so much time in the stocks that you're going to start confusing it with 'home'."
And then there was no more time for arguing, as the creature seemed to get a second wind (not that it had lost its first). Luckily, Merlin's unexpected presence seemed to provide him with enough motivation to slay this beast once and for all. He parried two consecutive blows and was grateful to see that the creature had definitely been slowed by his earlier actions, even if it made little difference.
From somewhere off to the side, Merlin began hurling small stones, branches and seemingly whatever else he could find at the beast that, for the most part, ricocheted off its taut skin and landed uselessly on the ground below, neither injuring nor even irritating the creature.
This reminded Arthur of the last time they'd fought a creature together -- the serpent from the woods. It felt like a distant memory, despite the fact that it had been no more than a month since the encounter. Merlin hadn't been much help then either, but at least he was trying, which was far more than any previous servants had done.
"Do you really think that's going to help kill this thing, Merlin?"
"Better than standing around doing nothing," he replied, and Arthur couldn't help but agree.
He returned his focus to the beast, sussing out the damage he'd already inflicted. Most of its injuries were localised around its front legs with very little to the head and chest, which was what he needed if he hoped to defeat this thing. Rocks and various other debris continued to fly through the air while Arthur dodged attacks and waited for an opening.
Then, quite unexpectedly, a large branch made contact with the creature just as it was rearing up on its hind legs. With an irritated snort, the beast turned its head to glare in Merlin's direction, and Arthur was finally granted the opportunity with which to strike. It was distracted for no more than a few seconds at best, barely enough time to even make a decision, let alone act, but it afforded him all the time he needed. With a swiftness that belied his heaving chest, Arthur charged forward, thrusting his sword upwards into the creature's throat and wrenching back with as much strength as he could muster.
A shrill scream pierced the air as both claws flailed wildly, and Arthur tumbled backwards in his haste to put some distance between himself and the creature. He jumped up to his feet immediately, just in time to witness the beast topple over on its side, blood spilling from the gaping wound in its neck. But even before it fully landed on the ground, the creature was already struggling to right itself, determined to fight to the bitter end, and Arthur had no doubt that its wild, desperate rage could prove to be even more of a challenge if he didn't finish it off right this instant.
It was an incredible risk, but he also knew this was his best chance. Rushing towards the beast, clutching his sword with both hands, Arthur plunged the tip into its chest, yanking and twisting even as he attempted to shield himself from the creature's uncoordinated attacks. It roared in pain, but the sound faded with every passing second, along with its crazed attempts at shoving Arthur away. The beast twitched and squirmed for several agonising moments before finally flopping, limp and ragged, to the ground in defeat. It was dead at last, and both he and Merlin had made it through the ordeal relatively unscathed.
Arthur stood on slightly shaky legs, staring down at the body of the beast while he caught his breath.
After a few moments, he reached over and pulled his sword from the beast's chest, turning to Merlin as he wiped the sweat from his brow, smirking with gleeful pride. "See? I defeated it on my own, as I always have in the past."
Merlin huffed. "Er, I helped, you know. I threw the stones and branches which distracted it in the first place."
"All right, fine. I defeated it almost on my own, with slight assistance from you," he continued, trying his best not to smile. Sometimes toying with Merlin was just too easy. "Though I'm sure I would have been fine on my own. I don't know why you continuously doubt my skills--"
At Merlin's wide-eyed stare and gaping jaw, Arthur froze. Merlin looked every bit the opposite of a proud servant, and the expression on his face gave Arthur pause. Something wasn't right here.
"What is it?" he asked cautiously, already dreading the answer.
"Er…"
The sound of several irritated snorts flitted into his brain, and from there it wasn't difficult to make the leap that another beast had arrived on the scene. What he wasn't prepared for, however, was the appearance of three more of them -- and where the hell had they even come from? -- simply standing no more than a dozen feet away and staring at the pair, looking ready to strike at any moment.
*
Morgana's mouth twisted, trying to stave off what would be an endless flood of tears if she let her guard down. "I can't let you do this," she said, when she found her voice.
Morgause trained her gaze on the blade, pale sunlight glinting off it, and looked back at Morgana. There was no trace of bitterness or mockery in her face, just a curious incomprehension. "You think you can stop me with that?" she asked.
"I have to try." In truth, Morgana knew she stood no chance. What good was a piece of metal against the ethereal forces of the Old Religion? But they had both made their choice, and now, once united in a single purpose, they stood in opposing corners. Morgana had little means to defend herself, but for the protection of her home and the people she loved, she'd rather die trying than give up without a fight. That Morgause was one of the people she loved -- it had stayed her hand thus far, but Morgana knew that the longer they tarried, the less chance Arthur and Camelot had against the onslaught of the beasts, and it was for that reason she raised her sword, though reluctance weighed on her like an extra set of armour.
Morgause did nothing to meet this challenge. "I do not want to hurt you, Morgana."
"You already have."
Ignoring this, Morgause added, "You cannot kill me. It is not in you; you have shown that time and again."
Morgana pressed the sword point to the hollow of Morgause's throat. "I will if you don't fight back."
Affronted, Morgause forced the sword aside, but with Morgana holding it fast, its tip grazed the skin at her neck, drawing a trace of blood. Without a word, her eyes blazed with molten gold, and Morgana was thrown off her feet, landing ungracefully on her side with a startled cry. Though she made no move to help her up, regret flitted over Morgause's face. "You don't know what you're doing."
Stunned for a moment, Morgana gathered herself and scrambled to her feet, the sword still snug in her grip. She swung it, and was pushed once more to the ground by unseen forces.
"This is madness," Morgause shouted, furious, when Morgana came at her for the third time and fell just as before on her silent command. "You're risking your own life for people who care nothing for you. They show you kindness and love to your face now, but when they find out what you are -- what then?" she demanded, her hand outstretched and holding Morgana off with an invisible screen. "You'll be just another body on the pyre, like the hundreds before you and the hundreds who will come after. Have you learnt nothing?"
Morgause's words hit home. Morgana had burned bridges left and right; severing ties with Morgause may have been the right thing to do, but the truth of the matter was that, even if she came out of this alive, she could never return to Camelot and live the same kind of life she'd once done. For all that Uther had said, for all the support Arthur could give her, for all the promises Leon had made, she would always be living a lie, looking over her shoulder, hiding who she really was and what she had done. Whatever happened here today, she would still lose in the end. Nothing would change. Something inside her snapped.
Torn in a hundred directions, the storm of emotions she'd been trying so hard to hold back suddenly erupted out of her in a blinding stream of wild magic, unbidden and reckless. Where it had started fires and shattered furniture and glass before, it now demolished Morgause's shield, and they both staggered backwards at the force of it.
As if by sheer reflex, Morgause's hand shot out and she returned a searing blow that hurled Morgana into a tree trunk with a loud crack.
Morgana slumped over, still conscious but completely disoriented. Distantly, she heard her name, and try as she might she could not clear her vision, making out only a red figure coming towards her at speed. Whether it was defensive instinct or unfinished magic, she would never know, but in that moment, Morgana's only thought was of her sword. With what little strength she had left, she thrust the sword upwards and sank it, deep.
It was a thick warmth flowing across her hand that reawakened her senses, and when the fog cleared, pain was the first thing she registered, but the second made her cry out loud. Her hand was covered in Morgause's blood, and Morgause herself was on her knees, run through, her eyes wide and blinking with surprise.
"Oh, god," Morgana breathed, crawling to her side and bundling Morgause into her arms. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Oh, god, I'm sorry."
Morgause leaned into her embrace like a child, her face paler with each passing second. "It was not meant to end like this," she said quietly, with difficulty.
"Please, I'm sorry," Morgana cried, her throat tight with panic and despair. "Tell me what to do to help you."
"We could have been so great together, my sister," Morgause said, trying for a smile. "We could have been legends."
Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks, and Morgana could only nod and return that half-smile as she watched Morgause's spirit blink away into nothingness.
Blood was drying on her hands, caking over her skin like a disease. She laid Morgause's body on the ground, and with trembling fingers, closed the eyelids over those dead eyes. Gently, slowly, Morgana pulled out her sword, the vivid red stain on her blade suddenly worse than anything she'd ever seen, and she flung the sword to the ground, her stomach lurching painfully. Running over to a nearby tree, she dropped to her knees and wrapped one arm around the trunk for support, fingernails digging into the bark, as dry heaves wracked her body.
When she'd steadied herself, Morgana picked up her sword again and cleaned it, like a warrior should. Unknotting her cloak, she draped it over the body. It seemed disrespectful to just leave Morgause there, so open and unprotected, but there was nothing else she could do. For all she knew, Arthur and the knights were still in danger, and she needed to move.
Swallowing the knot in her throat and forcing herself not to look back, she retraced the route she'd taken, straining her ears for sounds of battle even though her own heavy footsteps seemed unable to penetrate the numbness in her mind.
When she caught sight of bright red cloaks, billowing like banners in the wind, she started running, running until she could see the blue of Leon's eyes.
The battle was over; there was no beast, no death, and Morgana, running on instinct, flew straight into Leon's arms.
"My lady," he murmured into her hair, and she held him fiercely until the other knights averted their gazes.
"You're all right," she said, her voice catching, dizzy with relief. "All of you."
Leon accorded her a warm smile, but looked worriedly about him.
She gripped his arm. "Where's Arthur?"
*
Arthur was no fool. This time, he knew, there was no way out of this alive. He had barely managed to kill one of the creatures -- and that was due almost entirely to luck. Three was unreasonable, even for someone as skilled as he. He would pass out long before he ever had the chance to slay one more, never mind the fact that it was highly improbable that they would each wait their turn to be killed before the next one attacked. Then he remembered that Merlin was with him, and much as it bruised his ego to admit it, the likelihood of Merlin being able to take care of this situation was far higher than Arthur's, if his suspicions were indeed correct.
"Merlin, do something," Arthur implored, fighting back the voice that kept insisting this would not end well. The beasts were divided in their attention, beady eyes darting back and forth between the pair, but magic or not, Merlin was virtually defenceless should one of them decide to lunge for him.
"What do you want me to do?"
Of all the times for Merlin to decide that his magic was best carried out in secret, this was undoubtedly the most inconvenient moment to choose.
"Surely you can do something -- hurl a boulder, fell a tree, strike them down with a bolt of lightning? Anything, Merlin, take your pick. I can't take on all of them on my own."
Even out of the corner of his eye, Arthur could see Merlin gaping in surprise, staring at him like a slack-jawed buffoon, as if he never once considered that Arthur might know about his magic. Not that it had ever been confirmed to him, but Arthur was neither blind nor an idiot. He was more than capable of piecing the evidence together on his own, especially when Merlin was so blatantly obvious about the whole thing.
Arthur smiled wryly, hand squeezing the hilt of his sword with white-knuckled intensity, his eyes trained steadily on the beasts before them. "I'm not as stupid as you seem to think I am."
"I don't think you're stupid," Merlin protested.
But there wasn't any time left to debate the issue. These creatures weren't exactly going to wait around while they hashed out all of the finer points of Arthur's implied stupidity or Merlin's cluelessness. As far as Arthur was concerned, either Merlin put his talents to good use right now, or Arthur would order him to run for his bloody life, because there was no way Merlin was going to die today, no matter how high the odds were of Arthur meeting that particular fate.
Tossing a quick glance over at Merlin, he issued one last plea. "Merlin, we've gone this far together, haven't we? I understand why you might be afraid, but please, you have to trust me. Nothing will change between us, no matter what happens here today; you have my word. So, please, by the gods, if you can help us, do it."
It was as though the universe slowed to let Arthur's words sink in; in that moment Arthur saw nothing but himself and Merlin and the shared understanding that everything hinged on this decision.
But it lasted only for a fraction of a second, and in the next, chaos burst to the fore. A snarl was the only warning they had as one of the beasts lunged for him, and before Arthur could even register what was happening, Merlin was pushing him out of the way, tumbling across the ground in Arthur's place, as he was swiped off his feet by the creature's claws. A mess of dirt and blood, his face wracked with pain, and one hand clutched to his soaked chest, which was scored with four deep gashes. Merlin pulled his hand away, blinking uncomprehendingly at the deep red stain blooming on the front of his tunic and dripping through his fingers. Steps away, his attacker sniffed the air, its eyes gleaming with animal pleasure at the scent of blood and torn flesh. It should have been Arthur, with mail and a lifetime of experience to protect his body, not stupid, reckless Merlin bleeding out before his eyes.
Rage made Arthur lunge at the beast, and panic made him careless. The impact threw the beast off balance, but Arthur's sword jarred out of his grip, and in an instant, he was pinned to the ground by the shoulders, retaliation impossible. The pinpoints of claws dug into his mail; the iron rings, so precisely woven and riveted, were painfully useless against the beast's weight, and Arthur felt each claw press and break his skin. A great cave of a mouth growled at him, the mephitic stench of its breath clouding in the air, and a flash of teeth bore down on him.
"No!" Merlin shouted, the effort leaching all colour from his face. With a swiftness that belied his injuries, Merlin's hand shot out, and a deep roar erupted from his throat, a sound that sent a shiver racing through Arthur's body.
The words were incomprehensible, but the anger that shaped every syllable was unmistakeable; the sky would fall at his feet at a single command. But he didn't want the sky, not this time, and when the words were finished, so were the beasts, incinerated to the dust and dirt that bore them.
It occurred, hysterically, to Arthur that he ought to fear this Merlin, this stranger with golden eyes and inexplicable powers beyond the likes of anything he'd ever seen, or that he ought to be furious with Merlin for everything. But when Merlin collapsed to his knees, all those thoughts immediately vanished.
He clambered to his feet and rushed to Merlin's side, cradling him in the crook of one arm. "Come on, Merlin," he said, trying to staunch the horrifying bleeding at Merlin's chest, "you blasted those monsters to nothing; surely you can fix yourself."
Merlin's mouth twisted, as his gaze travelled to his wounds. "I don't think I have anything left," he said in a small, wondering voice. "That last bit took everything out of me, I think."
"Bloody-- You are such an idiot. What the hell is wrong with you?"
"Couldn't let you die," he said after a moment, as though Arthur was the one who needed mental help.
"Oh, but you can?"
"I'm not going to die," Merlin said, but the words came out a little slurred, and he blinked sleepily.
Arthur slapped him lightly across the cheek. "Not like this. I won't allow it; do you understand? You're not allowed to die."
Merlin tried to laugh; it came out as a horrible gurgle. "Why not?"
"Because I bloody said so, Merlin," Arthur said, desperation creeping up on him. He couldn't lose Merlin, not like this, not ever.
Suddenly morose, Merlin looked at Arthur's hand, splayed across his chest, and sighed. He caught Arthur's stare. "Are you angry with me?"
"For trying to get yourself killed because of me? Yes, extremely."
"No, not that," Merlin said, and the sad resignation in his voice tore at Arthur's heart. "I'm sorry, Arthur. I only wanted to protect you." He gave a watery, wan smile, his fingers grazing over Arthur's. "You're going to be brilliant... Brilliant king."
Arthur shook his head. "Stop it," he said, more harshly than he'd intended; some small, still-functioning part of his head that wasn't overwhelmed with what he'd just seen recognised that, despite his avowals to the contrary, Merlin fully intended to die here in his arms and was attempting to say goodbye. "Don't be stupid. You're not dying; you're not."
"It's been..." said Merlin, his breath a laboured rattle, "an honour to serve you, sire."
Something inside Arthur broke. "Will you shut up, Merlin?"
Anger didn't even begin to cover the mess of emotions tugging Arthur's heart in every direction, and his face was suddenly hot with spilled tears. It just wasn't fair, the audacity of Merlin to save his life and then leave him behind, bereft of his best friend and worst servant and the one person in the world he still trusted beyond all measure, even though Merlin had lied to him from the very first. He needed time, he needed years, to give Merlin what he deserved for keeping secrets, to threaten him with the stocks and extra chores, to name a dungeon cell after him for all the time he was going to spend there. And when that was done, he needed forever, to feel the thrill of anticipation of hearing Merlin's footsteps round the corridor, to wake up to Merlin clanging around in the mornings with breakfast, to listen to Merlin spout off pearls of wisdom mixed in with his usual idiotic babble. To know that he would have someone on his side, no matter what. To show Merlin that same loyalty in return. To tell him.
"I..." said Arthur.
Need you by my side.
Need you with me.
Need you.
Love you.
His throat constricted, and the words came up as nothing but a gasp of air. He'd never been good at words; once in a while they came to him when he needed to instil courage in his knights before a battle, but he was the one who needed courage now, and in these moments, it always seemed to be Merlin who'd quietly turn up and tell him exactly what he had to hear. Arthur's mouth twisted as he bit back the thought of facing a future without Merlin, of moving forwards without Merlin's strength to keep him afloat and without Merlin's wisdom to keep him grounded.
He didn't have words, but then he'd always preferred being a man of action.
Dimly hating the tiny voice that told him this might be his last chance, Arthur tightened his hold on Merlin and pressed their lips together. His thoughts had no voice, but they had the fervency of his spirit and the abandon of his hopelessness, and he poured everything of himself into the kiss, a man wrecked by love and loss.
When Arthur pulled away at long last, Merlin smiled up at him, and closed his eyes.
Continue to
Chapter Sixteen